Almost done with season 3 of American Horror Story. It is really good. Definitely not as SCARY as Season 1 (or 2), though. But quite good. It contains interesting commentary on racism and de facto segregation.

There’s also, I think, an implicit motif about the conflicting views of the different varieties of feminism, and how the feminism of the 60s and 70s often failed to address issues around race and class. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, though.

Catticus Finch likes to sit at the end of the hallway and just stare at me while I make breakfast. In fact, I often find her just staring at me endlessly, like a creepy, furry, little serial killer. It occurs to me that this is what love is for my cat: a sort of psychopathological obsession.